The World Within
by Ophelia Fae
Summary: A story narrating the life of a handmaid in the court of the 3rd Queen of Numénor. Involves introspection, exploration of such notions as power, fear, corruption and love. Erestor/OFC - Undergoing review and possible rewrite.
1. Default Chapter

Chap1: the Long Neat Line

Memories for sale, buy one get a beautiful scar for free...To be found at the many branches of your life...just make sure to say the magic word!

How about it then? The rules are pretty simple...shed your dignity, embrace your pride's due of humiliation and you'll get a brand new sans-pride silhouette all in one second of the magic show...

Caution: hearts maybe on sale...stay away from that particular department unless of course you wish to be tied down, broken and bloodied for the sake of "friendships".  
  
Now for all you brave souls, look fear in the eye, stick your tongue out, dance your little suicide dance and "voila" you're a certified hero....

The title is war, the magic word is slaughter, and the grand prize is bottles of blood guaranteed to stain your carpets as well as your dreams all for the price of the first stab!  
  
It was the mere whisperings of war that drew me out of my protective home, out of my reverie; out of my existence...In a rush of events I blinked my past life away...

A scholar is never supposed to fight,

A woman is never supposed to fight,

A dreamer is never supposed to fight,

I was never supposed to fight...I was never meant to fight.

Born to a family that served in the court of Armenelos...I lived in a simple house, raised by simple parents, played with simple toys and was treated with adequate measures, perhaps the simplicity of it all had affected my own features at some point in time...My reflection in the mirror never captured my eyes...It was not capable of getting a hold on my memory...Yet the perfect image of the queen with her glorious beauty burned into my memory...She had hair like waves of black silk or so I told her with all the simplicity of a 6 year old...She had eyes like green emeralds or so my innocent investigative gaze told her, and she graced me with a laugh that spread warmth in all who heard her...Growing up was awkward when I always found it difficult to do more than smile,, when my height was an indicant of my simple social stature, when my hair had merely a couple of misplaced curls and a black colour that seemed to lose its shine with every passing year, when people felt like frozen statues with moving lips and still eyes dancing at some distant mountain...

The queen never changed because the hands of time were shy to touch such beauty...I never changed because I was incapable of change...

**  
**It was a wicked day that brought me to Imladris... Everyone was happy and vibrant and excited and all around energetic... Drained, I tediously was drenched in my own lack of energy. It appeared as though they drew my energy and hideously transformed it into their own.

"I should like to see my son before he leaves to war."  
  
"But my queen, there is no war"

I pinned a strand of her glorious hair while concentrating on her reflection in the mirror in front of us...  
  
She simply smiled a kind knowing smile that I took kindly to...Such kindness was often kin to humiliation because it often signalled that a matter has slipped me by unnoticed.

"War is already burning my dear but we haven't seen the flames yet..."

Her eyes betrayed no sorrow but a look of grave distance that held depths only sentiments more powerful than grief could draw. I dropped my gaze to her hair trying to reach a perfect hair style for a perfect queen... I always preferred silence to conversation .My senses felt assaulted with human voices; voices that often revealed great zest but little wit.

I lifted my head and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and returned to my frequent ponderings of whether people could feel my thoughts...Perhaps not...Probably not...  
  
"Would you come with me on this journey?" ......Silence...  
  
Would I like to come with her on her journey? No I wouldn't...Would I like to journey with her? No I wouldn't...Would I like to ride a horse? No I wouldn't...I find approaching animals much more difficult than approaching humans...Animals are always much more perceptive...  
  
"Yes, my queen...I'm always glad to be of service."  
  
She rewarded my offer with a voicing of my own thoughts as I left the room after giving all due bows and raw smiles "It would be a learning opportunity for you..."  
  
I could vaguely make out the rest of the sentence...It vaguely sounded like an offer to complete my scholarly aspirations...Ah! Yes....My scholarly aspirations...my servitude-escaping aspirations...My logically ridiculous aspirations...My only aspirations...

Returning home at dinner time, my father was not yet present, his presence was not really required or necessary...It was easy enough for me to imagine his face lighting up with the excitement of personally serving the queen with his offspring...I had my answer before I asked the question..  
  
My mother was preparing dinner...I gazed at her overly rounded figure and could not make myself imagine how it would be like to carry the weight of an overly sized body of a woman who had witnessed the birth of 9 children and with them the birth of a life without a taste of personal attention to one's own figure...Too heavy...  
  
She turned her head and smiled at me with flushed cheeks and a sweat adorned forehead...How can she be so content? I was always her favourite...A thing which I always wrestled to reason with...I was too self-centred, too ungrateful, too apathetic towards others, too indifferent to life itself...  
  
"The queen wishes me to journey with her to Imladris to see her son..."  
  
She graced me with another one of her fattening smiles, and replied with a voice that held suffocating warmth: "It is time you saw the world!"...I was not particularly fond of the thought of seeing the world...If the world was such an attractive place why was my mother's world restricted to the kitchen?  
  
I tried to return the favour with a smile...It came out more like a twitch...and yet it gladdened my mother...I simply will have to admit defeat ...  
  
Dawn came crawling soon enough...Days kept rolling fast enough...Soon enough I was strapping my bundle of clothes to the sides of an old horse, dragging it on board the royal ship and staring into boundless depths of blue...soon the tiring rhythm of the road consumed my energy...soon the hustle and bustle of the servants and the cooks and the soldiers deafened my senses...We were nearing Imladris after four weeks;I was a miserable creature...A servant is generally presumed to find amusement in other servants' flutters of thoughts that generally flew about during such journeys, to me it was utter wretchedness that volumes could not suffice to describe; particularly that this journey was destined to one of the homes of the elves.

Determined to make no acquaintances among them, my approaching their homes increased my sullied state of alertness. My own disposition regarding elves was much clouded by the gifts nature generously bestowed upon them and held back from" us".

As we neared the borders I could make out the figures of guards; it was easy enough to speculate that they were elves...Too elegant, too swift, too graceful, simply too pristine for my rather delicate taste...  
  
They gave their respect to the queen and urged the party on...I purposely guided my old horse to the middle of the crowd. It was an opportunity for me to observe what little evidence I had of the coming stay in the last homely house...Surprises were particularly unpleasant, at least whenever I was concerned...I avoided them with much vigour...  
  
An elf, in my perspective, was not supposed to be much of a talkative creature; I always found it absurd to gaze at unnatural beauty, while listening to it talking...  
  
They talked...They chatted....They sang...They smiled much too often...and again, they talked...  
  
I hate pleasantries...I hated elvish pleasantries even more so...  
  
We arrived at sunset... I was struck with the beauty of the violet shades on the hidden city...I was proud that it had not surprised me to be stricken... but my meditation was cut short by the queen's request for help...  
  
I drew my hood over my eyes, to an excessive degree; dismounted my old horse, with no energy; bowed to the queen; carried off her things; and resentfully followed the long line, neatly following her...

Note: umm Me I was very very surprised that someone actually reviewed...you see I had sworn off writing. Left it for a time and I forgot to point at the sea trip because I was drinking too much coffee and seriously feeling drained. Again thank you for the review...

1. Armenelos: The mighty city in the central regions of Númenor, where the island's Kings dwelt.  
2. The queen referred to is Tar-Vanimeldë (2277 - 2637 S.A., r. 2526 - 2637 S.A.) The daughter of Tar-Telemmaitë inherited the rule of Númenor from her father to become the island's sixteenth monarch, and third Ruling Queen. She gave little thought to the practicalities of government, though, and preferred music and dancing. The day-to-day affairs of state she left to her husband Herucalmo, who was of noble descent himself, and effectively ruled Númenor while his wife sat on the throne.

Tar-Vanimeldë was Queen for one hundred and eleven years. When she died, she should have been succeeded by her son, but Herucalmo refused to give up his power. Instead, though he had no legal claim to the throne, he took the name Tar-Anducal and ruled as King for the next twenty years. After Herucalmo's death, the line passed back to its rightful heir, his son, who became King Tar-Alcarin


	2. Resonance of Thoughts

**Chapter2:** Resonance_ of Thoughts_

So this was Imladris, the famed elvish house...It was upon contemplation, pleasantly unpleasant. The queen **requested** my chambers be located nearest to hers bringing my efforts to remain part of the long neat line to a halt and rousing my efforts to serve in a most tiresome manner. Perhaps the learning opportunity was earning the ability to serve in a multitude of environments.

The decoration in her majesty's chamber was carefully etched into every corner, a fact which drove me to wonder how a person could take the pain of pouring his heart into a form of art then agreeably offer it to the eyes of those who are so accustomed to delicacies by nature of their post, that they would not notice.

It is strange how arts are always the fruit of deprivation and the meals of over-fortune.

When the second week after our arrival dawned, I decided to investigate the possibility of visiting the library.

The queen, as always, rose from her bed with the grace bestowed upon one of kingly blood and graced me with one of her charming smiles; a smile which I would have returned with one of my own alarming ones had it not been morning time, and had I not seen an abundance of smiles, such delicacies of beautiful faces always have a sour taste.

"Are you well rested my queen?"

The queen chose to dispense the usual answer of: "Aye, well enough in a bed with no warmth."

The mere idea of dependence upon another to bring warmth into my bed when blankets could sufficiently serve the purpose sounded dull to my naturally dulled ears.

I chose to reply with the silence of one who has admitted defeat in the taxing quest of finding an appropriate response after many a morning of quite the similar routine.

She was quite pleased with my choice of dresses; I would have been mildly pleased with my choice, were it indeed my choice. It was an elvish choice, an elvishly silky choice.

My fingers resumed their chores of dressing her silky strands.

"I would like to request your permission to visit the library later on my queen. That is, if I will not be needed."

The queen absent-mindedly caressed her hair as she mused on an amusing thought that seemed to draw another smile on her face:

"Saelind, it is not my permission you need seek, but that of Lord Erestor"

Something about that name vexed my ears and I winced inwardly; my plans to "avoid" interactions with elves have just been reduced to "minimizing" interactions.

Thinking she might add kind reflection to her long list of gently flavoured actions, and encouraged by the expression of deep thought controlling my features, the queen offered to introduce me with a decisive: "I will do the introduction"

My eyes regained focus on her face as my thoughts recovered from being mercilessly torn into pieces by her majesty's thoughtful proposal.

Introductions accompany those whose personal history is bright enough to flaunt around whenever a new face presented itself; as for those who had the good fortune of owning a perfectly white sheet of history with a black dot for ornamentation, the term introduction is only one of the many equivalents of embarrassment.

I could not, however, utter my thanks nor express my profound gratitude. Instead I bowed rather hurriedly and made the rash decision of being enslaved by my feet and my restless mind.

I could not afford any more time wasting after an hour spent wandering aimlessly, while each and every dialogue that passed through my mind ended with an audible crash into a brick wall.

The queen was reposing in the rooms adjacent to the main lobby nearest to the eastern wings.

And yet another hour or so was similarly spent, trying to vigilantly serve her highness.

"Is there anything you need my queen?"

"May I be of any help your majesty?"

"Do you wish for anything my queen?"

My subtle approach met failure: the queen mistook my questions for excessive care on my part and granted a multitude of sighs. The direct approach is never a favourite of mine but at times when people do not speculate my true intentions, it becomes a necessity.

"What would you have me do now your grace?"

My eyes tried to communicate what I meant with a look my mother is well acquainted with, it was the look of both irritation and pleading.

The queen replied with a low subdued voice, and had I not been occupied with accomplishing my plans I would have noticed that something must have been ailing her

"I suppose it is time to get you familiar with the library."

We headed for the library 2 hours after sunset, when the queen made sure she was presentable to her queenly degree; my jaw stiffened from fighting my instant yawns, my mind swam with pictures of warm beds and warm tea and...

The wooden doors opened to reveal what seemed like an office swimming with rows after rows of books. Images of sleep related items fled from my mind in an instant.

I stiffened as I spotted the Elvish figure towering over one of the oak tables, maps were spread over it, he was marking certain points on a number of maps and tracing odd shapes; his hair draped over his shoulders , some strands falling forward and dancing with the night breeze coming from an adjacent window.

The queen seeing he was somewhat preoccupied decided to make the introduction rather short: "Lord Erestor!"

He looked up from the maps; his eyes strayed from the queen to me; nodded his welcome; returned to his fascination with the maps.

I looked at some rows of books that whispered to me of forgotten dreams; dreams of freedom and redeemed pride; I could not move a lash of fear that it would all disappear; still rooted to the same spot, I did not notice the queen leaving until the creaking of the doors crept into my intoxicated senses. At that particular moment I noticed that Lord Erestor's object of scrutiny shifted from the maps to none other than my rigid form. I returned the gaze with my own, nothing about his gaze was heart stirring; nothing about mine reflected any emotion at all; it was, in all truth, void.

"Yes?"

Lord Erestor smiled, but it being brief prevented me from making out the meaning behind it and so I braced my self for any pleasant surprises to come.

"Are you not the Lady's servant?"

"I am a hand maid and it is only a temporary position."

He seemed to be satisfied with my somewhat rude answer as if it brought him to some significant conclusion; with a wave of his perfectly carved hand he dismissed the matter and gave me the permission I needed.

I did not voice my thanks for I felt that whatever conclusion he had reached did not stray far from my own flattering opinion of his Lordship.


	3. Shadows of My Thoughts

Chapter 3: Shadows of my Thoughts

"Saelind, the queen is expecting her breakfast!"

Ignoring that morning greeting I tried to move about the kitchens; fogged with the breaths of servants and ever occupied with their never-ending banters and attempts to please the stomachs of royalty. After quite the struggle with the masters of cooking I found myself a small place at the end of the long spread table where a multitude of hands danced randomly about.

"The queen has taken an elvish lover I hear."

A smirk tugged at my lips with the anticipation of the bountiful information about to pass from ignorant tongue to the other.

Razar, one of the oldest servants graced with the tender aura of a mother and cursed with the temper of an insolent child was quick to reply.

"It can not be lassie, Tis but the work of your imagination, aye tis folly I say to walk about spreading such utter nonsense, no no no the queen is married and would not conduct herself as such, watch what that witless tongue of yours lets lose, one of these days..........one of these days.......!"

She finished with an insanely quick shake of her head that would have rendered a youth light-headed.

But the grey hairs dancing about Razar's time etched features were not enough to silence all tongues.

Two younger servants sitting close drew their heads together and started discussing their own thoughts of the situation successfully reaching numerous critical conclusions making the two equivalently eligible to ruling court discussions, or so they thought!

- "I hear elves have great prowess as lovers."

-"oh well they should have, considering all their charms and their age"

-"but why would you think the queen would do that? Wouldn't that mean trouble?"

-"Power not trouble deary, with elves as her _supporters_ she would have all she wants"

-"All she wants?"

The voices turned into low whisperings and ended with a mutual nod from both maids. I had the information I needed, the exact amount I needed.

I headed for my rooms as sunset neared. The weight of what I felt I had to do making my every step heavy, heavier than shackled feet with burdened souls.

Every step added to the wild beatings of my heart and in the midst of it all I had to stop myself from laughing insanely at my helplessness.

Ten minutes past seven struck and a cold blade struck at my throat drawing a thin line of blood that oozed down my neck mixed with tears I could not stop.

His hands crept up my bodice until they reached the blood at my neck.

He traced the blood and started marking my own face with the blood drops.

I opened my eyes and stared blankly at the face half hidden by shadows.

"Do you not like my face wench? Or is it too marred for your taste?"

His low guttural laugh mixed with the own ravings of my heart as I tried to move to my hands.

"Larnach?" I asked in wheezes trying to support myself against the cold stone walls while my hands kept slipping from the hot liquid on them.

He looked down at my crumbled form, turned his head to the side and spat to mark his presence.

"Our Lord expects work. You do well to remember my name."

I could still feel his calloused hands slipping the parchment into my clenched fists before he left me to the shadows of my thoughts.

"_Patience is a virtue of weaker souls._

_Aimless rumours never delivered thrones._

_I expect nothing less than the service we agreed upon._

_Stray from the road I marked and you will see no more of my kindness._

_Ere the next moon rises I wait for a crimson horizon."_

Dread filled my soul at the realization of what I had tangled myself into, what I so willingly embraced only to have it claw my heart out. Minutes passed me by as I tried to piece together the images of the roads offered. I could vaguely see the trail of blood on both yet one ended in screams and the other in cold silence; Ah yes I am a creature to favour cold silence.

Time awaits none and before each morning the night must be gone.

The queen looked up from the pile of paper, visibly finding my presence somewhat unexpected. "I thought you were ill. Razar was clearly shaken this morning, muttering indistinguishable explanations and apologies on your part."

I bowed my head in a gesture of apparent remorse and hidden pain as memories flooded back, breaking through every shield I thought impenetrable: Crawling on all four, clawing on Razar's door, lying on the floor with glazed eyes, hearing her panicked voice and feeling nothing at all.

"I am dreadfully sorry your highness. I am a bit ill-disposed."

"Ill-disposed! Aye, you do seem deathly pale. You are relieved of your duties."

The calmness of her voice washed poisonously over me. Whether she meant it in good will or bad I knew not but I felt inexplicable guilt and consequent anger.

"Thank you, your highness." I whispered while nervously playing with the scarf around my neck

I found a small place under the library window and started piling stones in my lap. Stone after stone I threw at the innocent inhabitants of the birch tree in front.

Nature is always a remarkable source of amusement especially when one lacks energy or feels particularly _ill-disposed_.

"I do not appreciate such hostility near my gardens." I stood up facing the raven haired menace.

"I am sorry your lordship I didn't feel that my actions reflected hostility."

Erestor looked menacingly at me as he closed the shutters. In reaction I picked up more stones and angrily threw them at the tree perfectly aware of how my presence upset the tranquillity of the elvish surroundings. My plan was slowly approaching failure and I had not thought of an alternative. It was in my silent musings that I determined to find myself a position in the library and the key was in lord Erestor's hands.

His hand stopped mine as I was throwing another one of the stones and ineffectively throwing a piece of my residing anger.

Eyes aflame, he looked down into my eyes perhaps trying to warn me of the consequences of further transgression. A breeze picked up and his hair tickled my face. The smell was too sweet, the hands too gentle, the eyes too fierce, the beauty too radiant.

I snatched my hand away and rubbed it in a false display of pain. A display that would have fooled anyone according to my past experiences, but then again my past experiences were never with the elf kind.

He took a step backwards, a perfect placid mask on his handsome face. "What is it you want?"

At that moment I had to weigh my words very carefully. If I tell him the truth then he might act on his own whim and would most probably deny me entrance. If I tell a lie he would obviously sense it and my credibility would plunge into oblivion.

"I want to work in the library."

"For a human that is an exceedingly odd request. You may work under my charge."

That was strangely unproblematic.


	4. Battered Emotions

Chapter 4: Battered Emotions

Time is the strange substance of dreams. Yet, it always seemed that time only touched my dreams when they were coloured with fear. Strange colours that rouse emotions we seem to discard freely as time passes us by. I never discard anything freely, the colours seemed to dim the faster I tried to wrap longing arms about them. The longing never leaves, it merely stands by at times watching and smiling at the ignorance of our self-assurances and at times it swallows our souls whole. Dreams flourish and wither as they haunt us at night and whisper during the tiresome days. Yet, the state I was in I could not name for it was neither slumber nor awareness. It was a moonlit haze that shadowed my days and lit my nights.

"My lord, I wish to retire early tonight."

Erestor looked up with heavy eyelids as he closed the open book he was engulfed in.

At times I felt true unbidden rage that I could not read what he read. Could not know what he knew.

"Have I burdened you?"

That question alerted my senses. I hated to be received with care; perhaps because of my inability to return it or perhaps because the taste of it was ever so rare. "I hope that you do not consider my belonging to man kind as a sign of weakness."

Aye, I managed to open up old troubled gates with that question. Gates that were better left locked and forgotten.

Erestor pushed back his chair and stood straight, his height towering over mine even with the existence of rows of books between his figure and mine.

"Have you ever thought what it would be like to live a thousand years upon a thousand others? Nay, men have power we do not. Few of us ever regarded them as week."

I attempted to interrupt but was silenced by his approach. "I employed you for many reasons, pity not being one of them for I feel no pity for your kind. Your thoughts lately are drifting to darkness, go now and think neither of blood nor of words that poison."

My mind reeled; one phrase repeating itself menacingly: he knew, he knew, he knew...

I looked up from the parchment that occupied me minutes ago and stared into his eyes trying to calm my freshly murdered nerves. They were wild with silent emotion. This is not the image of elvish beauty my mind had woven. In my painting I did not see eyes lit with still fire, lips beckoning to be worshiped nor wit to be feared.

"I do not think of blood my lord, I dream of blood colouring my fingers in an endless night."

At that particular moment, my head felt extremely heavy against my slumped shoulders. I looked away as his presence felt nearer, staring into the golden trims of his robes lazily stretched on the floor. Silence stretched between eternities with my eyes fixed, dazed, tears streaming down. The silence stretched for far too long; I rose up facing him. Questions reeking havoc in my tired mind. Unrestrained I took his hands in mine and turned them over and over again.

He was unmoved, standing so still that one would wonder if a breath graced his body.

"Yes, there is no magic there."

The urge to run, to disappear within shadows washed over me. I dropped his hands, shook my head and clumsily ran out of the library.

"I will take the throne, mother"

The rising intensity of the voices stopped me in my tracks as I rested my tired form against the corridor walls.

"But you mustn't!"

"I mustn't what mother? Mustn't take what is rightfully mine or mustn't defy that crazed husband of yours?"

"He is YOUR FATHER"

"He is no father of mine, go back to your dancing and singing mother. I know why you have come. Your tender thought is misplaced. I shall not bow before him. Nay mother, happy will be the day he bows before me."

It was one of the moments that clarified things to a blinding degree. The Queen knew that the power she has would create strife and a war would ensue. Strange how I was so ignorant to the on goings of the court when I was always the companion of her majesty, to serve and please, to learn and let learn, to betray and deceive.

My modest chamber looked solemn and unwelcoming, cold and distant. Falling onto my bed, I laid staring at the ceiling for hours as if in some uncontrollable moment of destiny the shadows would immerge and still my fears; but the shadows were always meant to be shadows. Alas, if only I was as sure of what a bothersome human is meant to be. Uncomfortable sweat trickled down my back and my usually cold solid bed felt scorching and suffocating. Hesitantly I rose up and reached out for my dying candle. This fever I was in had to end.

His door...I was standing in front of his door, the candle died in my hand, its tears marking their way unto my sleeves.

He knew of my thoughts, mightn't he know of what I should do? Life does not offer second chances and if this be mine then I had to clench to it with all my might.

After a few hesitant knocks, the door opened slowly. Erestor was dressed in a silk grey tunic and black breeches; to my eyes that felt as though I was seeing him undressed, an idea that elicited sudden inexplicable repulsion. Repulsion of the kind akin not to disgust but to fear, fear of what one does not know or more accurately of what one does not want to know.

I looked away as I heard his voice barely above a whisper: "Yes?"

I looked back; his brows were frowned elegantly yet explicitly showing his discomfort.

"I am terribly sorry, pardon me."

"Sorry?"

"Yes, deeply truly sorry"

He watched as I started to back away from the door speaking after a few long seconds in a manner that froze my steps.

"Sorry for what? Knocking at my door in the middle of the night in a manner that would suggest an engagement of sorts to any who should see it, or sorry for holding out for help when you need it?"

A reply could not be found within me for I was both angered and humbled, a combination potent enough to leash my tongue.

"Come, standing alone in an abandoned corridor is no comfort."

Strange how his chamber offered the comfort that fled from mine. His bed sheets were ever so slightly fumbled suggesting that I had roused him from sleep. The candles in the corners were lit and he steeled himself in the only chair in the entire room leaving me to strut and fret about as I tried to voice my incoherent thoughts.

"You know of what services I am engaged in."

"That is a colourful way of describing it, yes I know"

"How?"

By this time I was reduced to a dummy that was beaten, worn and incapable of doing or managing anything except perhaps squeezing my fingers in a feverish manner.

"I thought your wit would explain it. Yet, you thought it was elvish magic; twas no magic. You being a handmaid who is too learned to be a simple handmaid aroused my curiosity. Then came the matter of the parchments you kept receiving from Armenelos. Parchments sealed in a fashion that only royalty use. At that point I could only guess that you were either a concubine of some power or a spy."

"Then you saw the scarf...."

"Aye"

Finger fiddling wouldn't do anymore, I had to pace and pace vehemently till a gentle hand rested on my shoulder. "I know not why men would rather tire themselves in worrisome thoughts than to think about matters in a subjective manner."

"I am not a model of human intellect, my lord"

I caught a smile from the corner of my eyes. Perhaps I should add insensitive to my list of elvish adjectives, no insensitive is too soft a word; heartless, yes heartless that is my new found conviction.

Notes: Me...I hope this clarifies things up a bit...Saelind is very confused so I tended towards confusing readers as well...I truly appreciate your reviews...thank you!


	5. When Wretched Luck Meets Selfinflicted M...

Chapter5: When Wretched Luck Meets Self-inflicted Misery.

I had not ever thought that my emotions could ever be read. A strong believer in theatrical masks, I've spent my life with well written expressions, well hidden emotions. I believed that as there is night and day there are two faces for each soul. Sometimes the faces differ greatly other times they are close cousins. Gentleness is not inborn in us humans for when weakness is shown weakness is imprinted. We never help those in need without ever feeling superior or self-satisfied to be honest. Mother was such a benevolent creature, yet benevolence planted in the soils of reality bloodies the hand that saws. Her humble utterances and actions, I always perceived as too humble. Profusely hating every moment of my waking existence because it was incomplete, it was marred, marred by inferiority and the abundant superiority of others. Superiority amplified in all and everything elven.

I inhaled deeply as I turned to face Lord Erestor, my eyes fixated on his with unnatural acidity.

"If I might be excused, I believe I shall return to my room."

Lord Erestor however found it quite amusing and laughed a short restrained laugh "But you will not sleep."

I mocked his laugh with one of my own, and bit my lip to stop myself from making an undiplomatically correct retort. "Aye, but your lordship would be able to get his well earned rest!"….Another laugh…. "It is well that I amuse you my lord, the well amused are well rested."

His laughter stopped and turned into a sharp frown: "You can go now and not let me set eyes on you for your own good, mortal."

"Or I can stay here and do what you say?"

He corrected my assumptions in an aggravated manner of a teacher: "You can stay here and figure out how to untangle yourself from the weavings of your own negligence."

"Untangle myself? You make it sound so simple"

His face softened perhaps because I was being kind or because I did what he wanted after all. "Every solution is as simple as a choice."

"Choices are very far from simple lord."

He arched his eyebrow in a display of challenging indignation.

"Some wine?"

"NO"

He crossed the room, came back with two goblets and a wine bottle that looked more expensive than all the garments in my trunk and sat at his old wooden desk.

"When you have lived as long as I have, you'll come to realize that choices are the simplest: it is finding the strength to live with their consequences that is quite difficult." I changed a comma to a semi-colon.

I watched as he poured the wine in both goblets, sign of long lost sorrow etched on his face.

"May I speak freely?" I do not recall waiting for an answer as I felt it a right of mine to correct tilted views particularly when they are in clear opposition to my own. "A path ill chosen is a path ill-ending. The difficulty in living with consequences is naught but a simple necessity. Have you not had to practice it as a child when you decided to explore the mighty delights of lemons?"

His reaction was a perfect aggravating mixture of both indignation and apathy as he calmly sipped his wine. His eyes lingered on my face and then lightly settled onmy neck. My bare feet moved hurriedly to his end of the table. I reached out to the wine perhaps trying to drown the silence with my movement.

He stopped my hand, strongly clamping his over mine that had barely surrounded the goblet. "You refused the wine when I first offered it."

"I did not know indecision could quake such strong demeanour."

His laughter rang through the room as I slowly crouched down, my eyes fixated on his hand.

"Do not remove your hand till I finish inspecting it."

"Ah, but are you not offended at the transgression?"

"Are you not offended at my request? If you think to trifle with my innocent curiosity to merely reduce my opinions then I beg of you to apologize not for your transgression."

I continued to inspect the hand so deliciously spread under mine. He shrank back as I ran my fingers over the exposed skin. "Saelind."

He had not addressed my by my name before and I felt emboldened with his minute display of intimacy. "Your hand….my lord…is more beautiful than fresh cream lying softly on a warm bed of milk."

However I mistook that display of intimacy as minute when it was a mere shred of the word.

"Do not mistake yourself for a noble elleth, for that you are not." The hand was removed, the newly found warmth extinguished.

"I want my wine, my lord." He pushed the Goblet into my hand. "Tell me, my lord, have I not the right to express my admiration of God given beauty because Eru wished me to be a woman?"

His eyes hardened, "you are not to display any change in position to any of the messengers, and your messages will pass by me before they are delivered."

"I believe now would be my turn, your lordship, for offering my thanks for such a generous well chosen fate."

"Such propriety is not necessarily required but generally preferred." The goblet was finished, my patience dwindled, my senses dimmed. I sat on the bed rather hurriedly, the beat of my heart resonating in my head.

Erestor noticed the sudden change yet his features did not soften. My previous assessment of insensitivity held strong. The plain looking do not evoke compassion but they as all creations of Eru, of evoking pity. I evoked neither.

"Have you had anything to eat before coming to my chamber?"

"Your generosity is boundless, Erestor, but I left my mother's womb lacking in appetite."

He paced the room while considering his options. My eyes hurt from watching his figure move back and forth at such alarming speed.

"Wine is said to loosen the tongues of the wretched, is that not an interesting fact, Erestor."

"Yours is quite loose."

I laughed half-heartedly "Then it is your wretched luck that I have naught to spill."

Stumbling, I attempted to stand and leave. The chair stood stubbornly in my way; my legs did not oblige me as I tumbled face forward onto the wooden door. I had not realized that I had naught but tears to spill.

Warm anguished tears fell down my cheeks, slipped into my mouth and defined the taste of self-inflicted misery.

He looked down, watching in patient alarm as I huddled myself, bent down face forward and tried to stand up with the help of both my feet and hands.

The world suddenly took on different shapes. The colours I could not see from behind the curtains of tears, but I knew that the wine had stretched the forms in front of me into a million different directions, all except the tall form of the Elven lord. He was still regarding me, of that I was sure.

My tongue felt heavy and my mind laden with imaginary fumes. I knew not that I approached him till I felt the delicate skin of his face under my hand. That was my answer, an answer which he might have both understood and misinterpreted. He did not shrink back nor did her remove the hand that touched him do boldly, instead he simply stood there nothing different except the soft eyes that gazed down upon me with compassion. For once in my life I felt secure. My soul reeked of fear and desire but I was peaceful in my newly found world. My plain features stained his silver tunic as I willingly embraced a being for the first time. His arms did not tighten about me; he had no caresses to give.


	6. Whispers of the Road

Chapter 6: Whispers of the Road

Mornings always came unbidden. The light of the sun I always saw yet did not feel; the warmth reached the skin but not the heart. Of all my life's stale mornings I dreaded this the most.

The sheets were silkier than those I have come to know, the scent of the sea on a winter day clutched to them. Perhaps I was yet dreaming, a dream of stormy shelters where the waves dance along golden shores. I wriggled in the sheets so exquisitely molten unto my skin.

Lazily opening my eyes, the images floated back. The shelter no longer felt welcoming, the sheets scorching my skin.

The Day of Judgment had come and with any further luck I might get expelled out of the city or better yet lashed and beaten into a teary remorse.

The fumes of my mind turned into dark clouds and thundering storms.

I knocked on the library door…once….twice….

Erestor looked at me peacefully; a look of the sympathizing executioner? I lowered not my head for I have had enough of social propriety.

"Pitiful is the soul that does not greet the morning with your face."

"Did you not learn your lesson?" He frowned spotting my bare feet and bed worn hair.

"Alas my lord, you look upon a mortal, a creature of poor judgement, a mortal who has tasks to accomplish and can not bask in your warmth all day."

His face contorted suddenly, the lips drawn into a thin line, the elegant brows frowning furiously.

To love a fantasy pleases the heart but tires the mind. Mine was being heartlessly tortured with images of forbidden ecstasy dimmed by the cruel hand of reality.

I walked past Erestor, steadily staring at my destined chair.

That particular morning was beautiful beyond belief. It was frightening beyond belief. My heart felt emptied as I examined my life, eyes staring absently at the trees. They say a wise man is one who knows what he has to lose, how he might lose it and the truth of such loss. I knew what I had to lose and craved what I hadn't. I was left barren and worn out. The future looked darker the further I spread my eyes. Madness ceased my mind and my hands began writing out of their own accord.

"_Your Excellency,_

_I know not what madness prompts me to say what I am about to say but know that I consider your benefits and they have always over-weighed mine. Servants rarely ever make good spies- no pardon me- not spies for I know you fight for your rights. I am merely trying to indicate that I am of no help for my mind is dimmed and my body weakened. I have not been able to proceed as planned. However this might anger you I beg to differ for I have chosen to tell the truth and in that I do vow loyalty. My position as the queen's handmaid has been changed and my new position puts me under dangerous scrutiny. Punishment might be truly what I deserve—I know not what judgement you reserve for me—fool of a second born I am to ever dare believe myself capable of doing such nonsense. _

_S."_

"What are you writing?"

I looked up as Erestor's voice washed over my senses dragging them back to reality.

"It is a private matter, I do not wish to discuss with your lordship."

"You are in no position to be obeyed. I would see that parchment before the messengers leave. Is that understood?"

"No" I crumbled the parchment in my hand and looked up angrily. Why had I chosen him as my saviour? Why such a fatal mistake?

Erestor looked thunderstruck as he recovered gradually. His eyes looking down upon me like the miniscule stain I was.

My room called out to me. The darkened hollowed walls, the empty bed, the cold sheets all called out to me. However, sleep did not.

The agony of my predicament tore at my thoughts and whispered torturous poisons. The music of the night rose to dangerous levels, my room was no longer inviting.

Instead of sleep, I found myself wandering the gardens outside, the night breeze swinging my hammered moods back and forth.

I know not how much time passed, days slipped by me.

"Lord Erestor, how do you know when repentance is due?"

Erestor's attention piqued at my previous exertions seemed to be rekindled by my abrupt question.

"Why do you ask?"

"Do all elves have this God given tendency to answer questions with more?"

His lips stretched into a thin line as a sign of suppressed mirth. "Only when the mind of a human is behind the question."

"Ah, yes, with the lordly image you have to constantly maintain…Must be tiresome." -Tiresome to my ragged soul, feeding the suffocated in brief breaths.

"Our lordly image? Nay, I do believe that to be mostly the working of human minds too."

Yes and your heavenly glow is my imagination, your flawless face my own drawing. I was irritated; nay exasperated.

"What of repentance then, my lord?"

"Which repentance is that?" he replied with a pointing glance so respectfully reproachful, I had to go a great distance picturing its kin when my actions further reveal themselves.

"Are you insinuating that I have much to repent for?"

"Merely suggesting..."

"Oh, but dear lord, did I not promise to repent of all but one mishap?" I knew I tugged at the wrong line right then. I intentionally poured light into thoughts he wanted buried.

At that, Lord Erestor's features contorted. He seemed to concentrate on the select few words he has to utter.

"Saelind, do not tamper with fire; for when it is but a flame at birth, it grows to frightening heights."

I understood not the sadness that shadowed his eyes or the angry beatings of my heart. "By all measures my lord, I plead ignorant of any such flame….except perhaps in my own heart and that grows not by itself but is doomed to death along side the flesh that holds it."

I stared off into empty space as I pictured what could have happened if the elven lord had shared those feelings that seemed to plague me of late, the innocent touch of the perfect hand on a mortal's cheek, the warming embrace when the world grows cold. So lost in my haze, I did not recognize the warmth that touched my cheek so gently for I though it a figment of my imagination. Naught but the warm breath caressing my brow could have drawn me out of my self inflicting reverie. I heard his murmurings, distant enchantments, warm damnation. I knew then, my passions are taking revenge against my heart. Such is human nature; cursed to abrupt awakenings in such instances muck akin to ailments of the flesh, only never to be forgotten, dwindling in the light of the sun yet plaguing our dreams.

"Lord, the fire is tempted most by fleeting breezes, but till beckoning winds blow, breezes aggravate the dried leaves and frustrate the youthful sparks."

Erestor removed his hand as if burnt and turned his back to me. I again confess my detestable weakness. Oh how I despise the creature that stares at me in the mirror! How much easier it appears to find reasons to loathe my shortcomings than to find praise worthy deeds.

I left the library not wishing to know whether he turned around, felt my agony or even understood parts of it, scattered little parts. Nay, I feverishly wanted to know, to pry answers I needed and yet so utterly feared.

♠♠


	7. A Lover's Oath

Chapter 7: A Lover's Oath

Echoes of steps getting louder, louder, louder, drumming with my own heart until I could not breathe any longer. I abruptly sat up in my bed, cold sweat trickling down my forehead. It was a dream; a dream of such monstrous thoughts that could not be lulled to sleep; soldiers coming to commit me to death, my mother's screams tearing at my heart, my father hiding his face is shame, my brothers spitting in my face. It was just a dream. As the morning matured, I found Erestor at his desk, his face flushed with anger. He lifted up his eyes and looked at me with such wrath I shrank back.

"So you know." I uttered meekly

"I was made to know by the messengers. Soldiers in my Library, with their foul tongues and dormant minds. Why? Why do you always choose to betray my trust? Do you not see that it becomes harder to protect you? Why?"

"Your trust? Your trust?" My voice rose to insane levels as I turned around and mockingly waved my hands in front of his lord's face.

"You never trusted this insolent mortal; trust my lord is a word that flees whenever I am near and you have not changed that. Did you ask, my lord, why I have done it?"

His anger calmed: "You sparked a war and labelled yourself a traitor."

"A traitor to those who would kill a thousand souls to hold onto their thrones."

He rose up from his chair and held my hands between his: "Aye, but the past is not so easily erased, when the heart is not willing to forgive. I trust in your heart, in the blood that surges through your veins. I asked only to be able to guide you."

"Guide me?" I was enraged, hysterically enraged.

"Oh crazed world, behold as the mortal is led to the butcher's knife; a sheep amongst its herd. Behold as the butcher pats the darkest amongst the herd and whispers endearments of beauty as the trembling sheep stares into its reflection in the pool of blood."

"Guide me? Oh yes with your eternal wisdom." I bowed down mockingly. "Delightful gift my lord. My apologies for being so unworthy of your attentions…"

I knew my words would anger his lordship, what I did not know is that his self restraint would fail and falter because of my own feverish thoughts. He gripped both arms so suddenly, the blood drained out of my frame.

"They were ordered to take you back as a traitor. To kill you…" His voice died as he uttered the last words and released my arms leaving me to crawl back into the wall.

Left to the own ponderings of my mind, I knew I had lost my heart.

His lips brushed tenderly over mine, it felt as though his soul brushed against mine and I gripped the edges of the table behind me roughly in a weakening effort to suppress my emotions.

Wooden splinters dug into my palms and I abruptly lifted my hands and started sucking on the splinters trying to ease the pain, my eyes were cast down to hide the discomfort that echoed through my every thought.

He gently took both hands in his and kissed each palm calmly. The ease with which he moved contrasted sharply against the turmoil that welled up in my heart.

Never before, have I felt exposed and naked to the bone.

"You should not be in my chambers at this our hour, my lord!"

I could not utter the last two words louder than a whisper for the pain they brought me.

His hand strayed to my hair and he started moving the strands brushing my face as they danced to the night breeze. I lifted a hand up to his chest trying to distance myself but the hand lingered far longer than what I wished for.

He captured the hand and moved to my bed and calmly sat on it with my hand still captured by his.

"What do you want my lord? I am a handmaid not a wench at some inn!"

My cheeks burned with both anger and frustration and I turned around and headed to the door with every intention of showing Lord Erestor the way out.

He Rose from the bed and walked calmly then placed his hand upon my shoulder, beckoning me to turn around. His eyes were warm and his face exceptionally radiant.

At the moment he seemed a painting of the Gods laced with gold and ebony.

He smiled: "I wish to look upon you."

My irritation soared high as I felt my self control tread on a loose thread.

"One would think you speak of a site of such beauty. You elf-folk I presume have had enough rendezvous with mirrors to carefully recognize the beauty I am not."

My remark made him move closer, his lips inches from mine, the heat strengthening the sickly blush of my cheeks.

"Oh, but my dear, I wish to see every inch of your body the way a lover sees his loved one."

"You had better see yourself a harlot then, Lord!"

Erestor's smile widened if that were possible, as he chuckled the words: "Does your heart not wish to bask in my warmth and your skin to be brought to life with my touch?"

At that point I turned about, for he had remembered my words. Words I have often reflected with both regret and passion. Shakily, my hands traced his cheeks: "You hurt my pride to save my heart. Yet, this can not be…What you speak of can not be!"

He captured my hands and kissed them as he lifted his eyes to mine. A strange gleam was alight in them, a gleam I could not interpret as I was hurled unto his back much like a sack of crops.

"I am not a harlot, put me down this instance!"

"Elves do not bed harlots." His hair entered my mouth and I continuously struggled to take it out. A few steps felt like an eternity, the heavy breaths whisperings of a tired heart.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor headless of those who saw. When hearts speak, the world is silenced; to each heart a rhythm, a song, an unworldly passion.

" Erestor?"

" Yes, my heart?"

" This is….inappropriate." His brows lowered, his meditation ended. He pushed the familiar door and set me down abruptly.

" Woe to him who tries to woo you for you either fiend stupidity or toy with his heart."

I did not realise that tears had streamed down my cheeks till I heard him whisper: "Your tears burn my soul; your wounds bleed my heart."

" Oh but you have toyed with mine and you have taken it from its shrine to crown it as yours." If anything, I had no more words to say as I approached his still figure.


	8. Silent Promise

Chap 8: _Silent Promise_

I touched my fingers lightly to his face, revelling in the warmth radiating from his eyes. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed them softly. I understood not how he bore the touch of my calloused hands on his silken skin or how to conduct myself in his presence even at such a moment.

"Lay your thoughts to sleep…" He whispered as he drew near, his lips inches from my ear, soft hair tickling the exposed skin of my shoulders. I tensed up as his lips began trailing soft warm kisses along my neck while his hands sought mine and enveloped them in reassurance. My heart was beating wildly within me. A million thoughts crossed my mind in painful speed. He drew back and looked at my face as if to discern whether my hesitation was out of fear or sole rejection. I felt neither, yet knowing not how to utter feelings so strange to me, I reached to touch his chest, my hands drawing figures of no shape except perhaps those born out of my own passions. I needed to melt my being to his and hating the clothes that stood before my eyes I began to fumble with his tunic and finding I was so far unsuccessful I frowned and looked up to his face. He understood and chuckled softly.

My frown deepened as he began removing his boots. Passion is supposed to drive us to frenzy not rational movement. Then again he was never a passionate creature. Or was it not passion he felt? Again I heard him chuckle. A second later I stood corrected and my thoughts were not laid to sleep, they were coaxed into feverish non-existence. His lips were pressed to mine and I could feel his smile as he directed my hands unto his neck. He then licked my lips and I felt his hands caressing my back slowly. My mouth opened out of its own accord and his tongue gently danced with mine. A new hunger was born within me and I returned the kiss with increasing fervour. The slow lingering kiss changed into chaotic movement as I felt his lips tracing their way down my neck and his hands slowly snaking their way up to my breasts.

I heard my self uttering his name meekly. My voice sounded laden with desire. Surrounding my waist with his arms he lifted me unto his lap as he sat on the bed. His hands travelled over my thighs over and over again spreading warmth into my very core.

I pushed myself against him to mould myself to him then planted soft kisses along his jaw line as my hands strayed to his breeches. It proved impossible for me to unlace them when he was returning my kisses with those of his own, so close to my breasts. Instead I resorted to caressing him, returning one sweet transgression with another. He groaned wildly and flipped our positions effectively pinning me underneath him. His hands moved from my thighs to my waist frantically trying to remove my undergarments.

My aches grew stronger and I kissed him with a mixture of madness and desperation. My hands found his ears and traced the unfamiliar shape eliciting a stream of elvish gibberish. It was a short lived triumph and I found myself laid unto the bed with my dress half way down my waist exposing my breasts. I looked at him trying to discern whether he approved or not. His eyes were hazed, almost lifeless. The hand frozen in mid air scorned my unfulfilled desires and I tried to sit up, barely supported with my two hands.

"Why do you not touch me?"

Erestor shook his head and replied with a barely audible voice: "I would not take what is not rightly mine…You…I can not…"

So that was to be my climatic moment. Why was he so subdued all of a sudden? Curse him and his elvish sense of propriety.

"Hesitation does not befit you my Lord." I took his hand and kissed his finger tips leisurely. The haze seemed to slowly lift from his eyes. My patience, however, was wearing thin. It seemed unnatural for me to lie thus unmoving whilst he struggled to regain control. I laid my hand gently on his cheek and spoke with all the determination I could muster: " Erestor, lay your thoughts to sleep…" I moved from underneath him. Closing my eyes to still my heart, I left the bed shaking. A mixture of confusion and loss crossed his eyes. Aye, he deserved it. Damnation…I will not lose my only moment of happiness to his unwarranted hesitation. I started removing my dress, fumbling madly with the remaining buttons. Even the buttons seemed bent on opposing me. I stared blankly at the wall facing me then turned around. He was looking at me as though he wished to memorize my every move. I almost tripped over the dress still hanging around my feet as I moved to the bed again.

"Do you want me?" I asked as I leaned forward, straddling him.

He closed his eyes momentarily then opened them as suddenly as he had closed them. "Do I want you? Are you daft?" His hand slid over mine stilling their motion as he mused over his words.

It seemed strangely odd that I would be on top of him and have this stupefied expression on my face. My lord had called me daft. I slid away from him even when his hands seemed to be unwilling to let me go.

" Saelind, how much do you know about elvish customs?"

Valar! He was trying my patience. I needed not the knowledge of elvish customs. I needed not the knowledge of elves. I needed him.

I continued silently towards the door. The distance seemed to stretch as if it were mocking my presence.

His hand closed over mine as I was opening the handle and he pulled me to his body, his breath hot on neck. I turned around willing myself to show all the anger and hurt that tore at my soul. I saw him shrink back while his eyes mirrored mine. Against all my better judgement, I brought my body close to his. He inhaled sharply then buried his head in the crook of my neck, his silken hair tickling my cheeks. With a muffled subdued voice he spoke:

" I want you to such a degree that the papers in front of my face, when I work, seem to tease me while unbidden images of you writhing underneath me rush into my mind every time I behold you. I want you so much I feel as though I would give eternity for a moment. I want you so much….I can not have you but to be bound to you."

"Bound?" His eyes searched mine for some sort of truth I could not find nor give. His expression softened when he realized that I truly knew nothing of what he meant by bound. I was bound to a lot of things. What was so wrong then to be deliciously bound to him?

"Aye. Bound to have you as my mate for all eternity."

My hands slid from his waist. Looking down I could see them visibly shaking. An elf lord never marries an adaneth. He must be mistaken. Curse him and his hopeful eyes. Curse him a thousand times. Curse me for cursing him a thousand more.

"I am tired."

"Nay! You are running"

"I am tired"

"Nay! You are scared."

I turned around, opened the door, walked away, turned around and walked right back. He was still fixed to the spot, a hand on the wall as he tried to bring his emotions back under control. I don't know whether to be flattered that I shook his control thus or offended that I could not tear apart completely.

"Then you will not lay with me unless I am to become your wife."

"Aye."

"Would it be possible then to share your bed tonight and not umm…?"

He lifted me in his arms and softly placed me on the bed. I watched with hungry eyes as he divested himself of his outer tunic and stretched on the bed. Resting my head on his chest I closed my eyes and drew myself closer to him. My mind was haunted with unspoken words. I was tired. Tired from searching for a life I lost the moment I came to life, a journey so cruel that my thirst was never quenched but grew and took the face of a monster. I prayed that he could one day forgive me.

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_P.S. I apologise for any typos or grammar mistakes. I hope this chapter has been worth your while! Leah, The Last Temptation of Homer, Elfique, I cannot express my thanks for your reviews. You have managed to pull me out of whatever writer's block/depression I was in…so here I am. _


	9. Absolution of the Wicked

Very special thanks with tons of huggles to my Beta and dear friend Rhapsody the Bard for all her patient help, as well as her constant encouragement. Rhapsody, you're a gem.

Chap 9: Absolution of the Wicked

It had become exceedingly strange how my mother failed to paint a clear image of life. I saw in her eyes nothing of the turmoil that plague the heart and trouble the mind, no notion of struggle or battle. Then again, I never saw beauty in a calm sea, never felt in awe of its magnificence until I was lost beneath its waves, submerged in a dream of vengeance and victory, never knowing that with vengeance I would but tear my sails and drown with agony to the bottom, to where light dares not walk and ghosts only whisper of tattered memories.

I had passed the night in thought as I untangled myself from his sleeping form and fought to make sense of my life. Those who seek thrills are those who are either promised luck or born favoured by Eru. I was neither and my doom seemed to mock me with every breath Erestor took. I knew not whether he heard my thoughts as they screamed in my mind so loudly I almost mistook them for a voice of some demon.

I knew not what I was capable of doing when I was so torn apart in thought alone. Could I perhaps impart my thoughts to him and ask for such wisdom, as one of the first born might possess? No! It seemed unnatural to me that I, one of the followers, and not the loftiest amongst them, would be able to do what an elf would. It seemed destined that I should err like a black sheep so far gone over the edge of a cliff, the ease with which it might fall presents so great a temptation that all thoughts of life are forgotten. He might have gone to Lord Elrond and that matter would have been placed in his hands. But nobility as such as that would not have deterred _his majesty_ from making sure I drew breath no more.

He might be partial towards me, I thought…. No, and I do him an injustice - I countered resignedly.

I might be a passing whim of his….No he is of elven kind. Oh how I hated him for my state of mind. He had so deliciously promised me love, alas, he promised it to his mind's image not to me. I was certain that he was deceived and that in such involuntary deceit I had committed a sin to rival that of my life's sins even those still looming on what dark horizon awaited me.

I tried to move about, but found myself effectively trapped between his leg and his arm draping over my waist. I did not know how that came to pass since I had so discretely and efficiently disentangled myself the minute his eyes glazed over. My resolution to tear away the silken threads of the web I was caught in, was so strong that sleep evaded me; rest turned a scornful eye and left me almost out of breath for want of movement.

So with all the childlike malice I could muster I poked him in the rib. He simply withdrew his arm and turned around giving me a full view of his back and granting the freedom to leave. How fast my restlessness turned into mule-like indignation. I poked again. Turning around, he wrapped his arms around me and drew me to his chest, eyes still closed. I tried to poke him again; partly out of curiosity and partly out of a wistful wish to merely annoy, but before my finger could reach his rib he caught my hand with his so firm and elegant that again I wondered at the ridiculous image our bodies presented so close together: one so unearthly beautiful and the other unearthly plain.

"What is your wish, my lord?" I asked with what bitterness my voice could carry. Perhaps if I wounded him then, I would be free of his presence; nothing to shackle what evil my mind was hissing to my soul.

A strange shadow crossed his eyes as he took both of my hands in his. "Do not mock me; I do not take kindly to acts of innocence…" Strange how even when he berated me, his voice held no scorn! I faced any such patience as I would as an alien thought and with hostility. Anger was never an emotion to be absorbed by gentle understanding. But the more my knife sank between his ribs, the gentler he sighed and I was rendered helpless again.

I kissed his brow as I moved to his body with mine. "Is it morning yet?" I murmured against his ears, smiling through my words as he groaned and closed his eyes. A mere second later, I was pinned beneath him, staring into his eyes shining with a fierceness the like of which I had never seen before. "Aye or Nay? Answer me. I would hear no explanations; no prayers for pardon- Answer me!" He demanded to know of me.

"I do not like voicing my thoughts." I answered burying my smile into his chest; my lips kissing what exposed skin they could caress. He held me by the shoulders and asked again: "Aye or nay?" I wondered briefly if it was the custom among his kind to be so callous in asking when their very existence was annoyingly poetic.

"Do you not understand? How is it that the wisdom of ages departs from you at the most untimely moments?"

Perhaps he just wished to hear my affirmation so that when the time comes to bear the consequence, the heavier end would be on my shoulders. Yet, I have been burdened my entire life, my dreams nothing but mutilations of disappointment existing in a dimension alien to my understanding. The fulfillment he promised could be no less that a dream no more than fleeting happiness- a measure of justice.

I took his hand and pressed it to my breast. He began kneading it softly, slowly; his fingers drawing what shapes desire alone can form. His other hand was caressing, what tendrils of my hair that had fallen into my eyes, away. My body responded to his rhythm out of its own accord urging him to grow bolder. I could feel him harden against my naked flesh, but he was still - still as the world around me.

"If it is the pleasure of the flesh you desire, I shall grant you that…." I interrupted, my voice hoarse and broken "No…. I am yours…" Relief lighted his eyes as he bent down his head to capture my lips. My fate was sealed.

* * *

"My prince" 

I bowed low, before the Queen's son. He was elaborately dressed: his robes spilled over the chair and pooled about him. A picture of magnificent beauty that rivaled his mother's, yet he evoked fear rather than envy. His eyes glittered like doors behind which forbidden treasures lie. The harder you push against them, the more you realized the attempts only served to drawn you in what seemed no deeper than mist.

"Saelind" he acknowledged with an inclination of his head as his eyes traveled over my body: assessing what he might like. A lazy smile spread over his handsome face; one, which no emotion could be assigned to.

"You have become a woman."

"I was born one, my prince," I replied with what polite irritation I dared reveal.

"Did my mother send you for my amusement?"

"You think poorly of her majesty's ability to entertain then." I countered, a wry grin spread across my face as I bowed again in apology.

"Mother - can indeed entertain-come here!" I moved as close as I could without being within his reach.

"Closer- now speak!" I remained silent while he searched my face then abruptly dragged me and sat me on his lap.

"Speak…" He urged again, impatience beginning to mar his regal countenance.

"Your father, my prince, has long employed me for his purposes. Yet, I did him a poor service. He has planned your demise to which I would have been the instrument."

"You bring me no news. You are not enamored of me and you do not seek rewards." He announced dismissively.

"You are mistaken, you highness, I do seek a reward, absolution…"

* * *

Author Notes: 

Elfique, Leah, The Last Temptation of Homer, I am so happy you liked the story so much so far and here's the update. I hope I don't disappoint  thank you for sticking by…It meant a lot to me.


	10. Haunted

Author's note: I would just like to say that without my amazing Beta Diddler none of this would have been possible at all. She is absolutely wonderful. Diddler, thank you so much.

Chapter 10 : Haunted

I never could distinguish the truth from manipulations of it. They all had the same brittle shade of grey, felt like voluntarily worn shackles and weighed more than human wrists could carry. While the first crushed the bones, the others merely shattered them .

"What divine inspiration had you up and about before dawn?" Erestor's eyes narrowed as he saw me turn my head to the other side in sudden fake interest, specific to all but his face.

"I was feeling a bit restless…" I was about to add love to that sentence, but retracted it. It did not sound fitting.

"Then I am sure your report of whatever it is you did shall be lively."

Nature has divined, that animals feel threatened when they are cornered. It was either fight or die or both. I, on the other hand, preferred another sequence: twist, slip, run. Unthinkingly, I gave that privilege away the minute I bound myself to him. Curse my short-sightedness.

"Mother always told me never to start my day with a disappointment." Again, I hesitated. I did not know how to address him

Husband' radiated warmth and marital bliss. I was bound to Erestor, not married; love, suggested long years of fondness and profound trust. I knew him not so long and profound trust was naught but utter naivety.

Erestor- I only called him that when in distress or when I am in a particularly charged mood.

Lord- not after our intimacy, unless of course, I wished to spite him.

I was cornered. I loathed the suffocating feel of corners with every fibre of existence.

"Then it is no surprise her daughter is name Saelind."

"Yes, aptly named" I replied testily, my breath coming in short huffs. His reply had startled me from my reverie, the compassionate expression lighting his face only suffocating me, further.

He moved closer and lifted my chin with his finger: "I can not always rescue you…" His voice seemed subdued, almost pleading.

I jerked my head away, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door with such ferocity, that every elf within the vicinity heard it.

I was reading in the library, when he found me later.

My reaction was to look down and feign indifference; his was to pluck the book out of hands, lift me by the shoulders and push me to the wall. "Interesting choice of books, love."

My head whipped around from looking over his shoulder to staring directly into his eyes. "Yes, don't you think…?" I replied venomously.

His face broke into a smile. I felt misplaced.

"It is disconcerting, how courteous you are in the morning."

"How very dull, my lord." I whispered and began fumbling with his clothes. He did not resist, did not question, did not rebuke for trying to desecrate his library…

Time was my worst enemy. Every breath I took served to remind me that something had to be very very soon. I no longer felt physically trapped. My mind was too consumed with panicked thoughts, my soul dependant on outright murder for survival. I did not know then that by taking fate into my hands, I welcome doom with a fatal force.

Larnach did not leave Imladris. His face sickened me. The prince knew of my ordeal and assured me that Larnach was long gone and that the only thing troubling me was my own thoughts. Suddenly, everyone tried to assure me that I was under no threat that the hands that attacked me before were as far away from my neck as I wanted them to be.

The maids shook their heads in the kitchens when I stood transfixed, staring at Larnach's frame blocking the door, perspiration trickling down my dress.

Erestor whispered calming words into my ear, every night, after I bolted from my pillow, eyes widened from fear of the face behind the window.

I knew I had not lost my mind. I knew I was losing my mind.

"Erestor"

"Yes?"

"If I do not come home tomorrow night, look for me only after the sun has risen."

He slid his hand from under my shoulders and placed it over his eyes. I could tell his entire frame shook from frustrated anger. I stared at the ceiling, my feet caressing the bed sheets from listlessness.

"Why?"

I left the bed, and opened the drawer of my little dressing stand so out of place in his rooms. My hands clutched the parcel I received that morning.

He looked into my eyes, then at my hands and walked slowly to his desk.

"What is this?" He asked while cradling his head with his hands, his elbows painfully digging into the ancient wood. He was hunched over like a defeated man.

"What delivery is this?"

I was shocked out of my stupor by the utter image of defeat he presented. My Erestor is my pillar, my strong wise pillar.

"Stand up"

"To what purpose?"

"They have not defeated me yet" I replied awkwardly.

"But you have defeated me" came his delayed reply. I started at the sorrow in his voice. I opened the parcel, walked slowly to his desk, placed the parcel in front of him and backed away.

He looked up abruptly, seeking an answer without uttering a word.

"That is a lock from my mother's head. This is not from the Queen's husband, it is from the prince. He gave me a choice, my mother's head or my own in sacrifice for his just cause."

Erestor came closer and slowly enveloped my hands with his own. "I am to kill Larnach and poison her highness. The prince **would** ascend the throne before word of her mortal illness reaches her husband. I **would** be brought to trial and sentenced to death by his majesty and the people would be avenged of the death of their beloved Queen."

"Lord Elrond suspected as much" He replied calmly. I was not calm and as such his calmness irritated me.

"I was questioning his or your perceptiveness. Larnach is supposed to deliver the poison. His Majesty thinks that I shall rid him of his wife, and come back repentant claiming that I'm her son's instrument of chaos.

Erestor purposely ignored my words as though they were no new revelation. I watched with rising anger as he moved to stand by the window.

"Well?" Try as I might the anger seeped into my voice.

He replied with a flat tone: "I always thought it shall be said Erestor wedded an Adaneth. Now I see Erestor wedded an instrument of fate."

Then, without the smallest glance, he turned around and left.

Yes, our relationship was utter foolishness. But when, has love been anything but sweet foolishness. My entire plight was born out of foolish decisions but had it not been for those mistakes I would have never found him. Never would have loved him, never … At that moment I knew that it was not out of fear, not out of love of family that I was determined to live regardless of how an entire kingdom might fare, but out of love for him.

Still, I refused to seek him out.


	11. Author's Note

Author's Note: This story is now officially under review.

To all those who have reviewed (Elfique, Leah, LootNScoot Fran/Kinvara, born to be hanged, Me) you have my warmest thanks and rest assured your remarks will be taken into consideration.

Any other comments would, also, be _very_ appreciated.


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